


Out of the Cold

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Tony and Clint (IronHawk) [9]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Polyamory, Sex Tapes, Tony and Clint do their usual not talking talking, doxing, the winter soldier comes in from the cold, unwillingly outed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 21:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14777528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: It was only a matter of time before the media figured out that Clive Burton was really Clint Barton.  Leave it to Steve Rogers to put himself in the line of fire to help his friends.  Nazis are Nazis, and there are some really crazy people out there. Maybe everyone getting outed is the best thing that could have happened?





	Out of the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> So, I never thought when I wrote "Three's Company and Four's an Orgy" that this IronHawk series would last as long as it has. I'm thinking this is the last one ... unless I get inspiration for another. Since I'm knee deep in an original novel, that might not happen. So, enjoy a happy ending for our favorite emotionally stunted men ... and Natasha. :)
> 
> There are protesters with homophobic signs, some angry shouting and absurdly insensitive reporter questions. Also, there's oblique mention of non-con when Clint is talking about what happened with Loki.

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!”

 

The reporters shouted his name, each jockeying to be the next to ask a question. Tony thrived on the attention, the constant demand to be on stage, in the spotlight; Clint, on the other hand, hated these post-op press conferences. Despite being able to stay in the shadows as Tony’s bodyguard, just watching Steve and Tony handle the insanity that was public relations tired Clint out. Today, he was especially grateful to have his false identity to hide behind; rumors of a chism in the Avengers was all anyone wanted to talk about.

 

“Gale?” Tony called on the woman from _The New York Post’s Page Six_. He prefered the straight up gossip pages to the ones that called themselves investigative outlets. At least they were honest about what they were doing, he reasoned.

 

“Is it true you and Captain Rogers had a falling out and he threatened to kick you off the team?” she asked. “That’s why you disappeared and then showed up in Malibu?”

 

“Retreat is such a nasty word,” Tony quipped. “Yes, Steve and I had a disagreement which, by the way, is not that unusual. Can you imagine Mr. Perfect living with me?” Some of the reporters chuckled. “No, no, Steve’s not perfect; he adds to the swear jar just like the others.” Steve rolled his eyes, making his feelings about the joke known. “Unfortunately, I had SI business in California. Boring, I know, but there you go.”

 

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!”

 

“What about the missing two weeks?” Gale continued, shouting over the others.

 

“Ah, love, even the best of us take vacations,” Tony drawled before pointing to the reporter from Der Spiegel. “Max?”

 

“Can I get a comment on the report that Loki went missing from the Asgardian prison?” he asked.

 

“As stated in the press release, the Avengers do not respond to rumors,” Steve jumped in to answer.

 

“Captain Rogers, was your falling out over Stark’s latest sex tape? How do you and the other Avengers feel about Iron Man being bisexual and sleeping with his bodyguard?” the young man from TMZ shouted.

 

“What?” Tony peered over the top of his sunglasses. “There’s a new video! Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

 

“It was just uploaded six minutes ago,” the reporter said. “And has over 250,000 hits already.”

 

“Take that Kanye!” Tony crowed, his phone out as he searched for the video. “Oh.” He tapped the screen, flipped it, zoomed in, tilted his head then grinned. “Well, hot damn. That’s impressive. Must have used a waterproof camera and scuba suit to get that angle.”

 

Clint didn’t want to, but he knew Tony would show him the second he had a chance, so he stepped behind the curtain and pulled out his phone. Easy to find with just a few search terms, the clip was surprisingly brightly colored shot taken from the beach up through the open door and billowy white gauzy curtains. There was no mistaking what was going on; Clint’s face was revealed in both profile and full-on as he held onto the bed post, one foot on the floor and the other knee on the mattress. Tony’s hands rested on Clint’s waist, holding him tight as he rolled his hips, snapping up and in with each thrust.

 

“Oh, shit.” He forced himself to watch the rest of the video, thankful that, as the sun set, they became silhouettes, only the flickering light of the tiki torches that lined the path. It cut out at three minutes and 27 seconds, screen static before it ended. “Oh, shit.”

 

“... Pilates is paying off, don’t you think?” Tony was saying. “Gotta stay flexible.”

 

“So you don’t deny this is you?” Someone shouted.

 

“Clive? Can we get a statement from him?” Another reporter called.

 

“Captain, is this what caused your break with Stark?” A woman in the front asked.

 

“What should people who idolize Iron Man think?” A guy in the back called out.

 

“People, people!” Tony stood, drawing their attention. “First, I never claimed to be a role model to anyone. Second, whoever took this video better have a good lawyer because no way in hell they weren’t on private property. And finally, don’t act surprised that I’m bisexual. That’s public knowledge.”

 

“But now you’re Iron Man,” the guy continued. “And that video’s pretty graphic; lots of little kids look to you as a role model.”

 

“That’s Cap’s job, not mine,” Tony replied. “I’ve never claimed to be wholesome and clean cut.”

 

“Aren’t you afraid the public will turn on you? Being gay and all?” The reporter with the question was older, one of the stable of writers from the Associated Press. “Not exactly the face” he coughed “the Avengers want for the world.”

 

“How do you feel, Steve, about living in the same tower with a homosexual? There’s still a lot of people who feel the way your generation did about LGBTQ issues,” another asked.

 

“Does it cause friction among the team,” a younger man asked. “Any awkwardness in the locker room?”

 

“What about the other Avengers? Are they aware of your proclivities and do they share the Captain’s viewpoints on homosexuality?” Yet another shouted.

 

“Hey,” Steve tried to interrupt, but Tony spoke over him.

 

“My ‘proclivities’ as you so delicately put it, are very well documented on youtube and various other sites. If anyone has a problem with it, they haven’t spoken up and, considering most of them are lawful good, they wouldn’t take up my offer of room and board if they did.”

 

Rather than slow down the questions, Tony’s answer only made the reporters speed up, tossing out one on top of the other.

 

“Are you in love with Clive?”

 

“Will you sue the videographer?”

 

“What’s your preferred brand of condoms, Tony? You do use protection, don’t you?”

 

“What’s SHIELD’s protocol about accepting gays? Do they adhere to don’t ask, don’t tell?”

 

“Is he the reason you broke up with Pepper?”

 

“What security company does Clive work for? Has he been vetted by SHIELD to work with the Avengers?”

 

“How does Thor feel about you being gay?”

 

“What about the Black Widow? Isn’t she a lesbian?”

 

“The world wants to know, Tony. Are you always on top or do you bottom too?”

 

“ENOUGH!”  Steve pushed back his chair and put his hands on the table, rising to his full height and staring the reporters down until they lapsed into silence. “If I can get a word in edgewise, I have a statement to make.” The reporters hurriedly checked their phones and recorders.

 

“First off, Tony and I had a disagreement on a minor issue about notification protocols and missing a team meeting.  That’s all.”

 

He held up his hand as a reporter started to open his mouth.

 

“Second, and let me be perfectly clear, Tony Stark is one of the best men I’ve ever met; he’s put his own life at risk too many times to count to save others. Maddening at times, yes, but Tony’s a damn fine colleague, one I’m honored to fight alongside.”

 

Steve leaned forward.

 

“Who he sleeps with makes absolutely no difference to me. We love who we love, end of story.”

 

“But what about …” one brave reporter said only to wither under Steve’s glare.

 

“And, for the record, Tony is bisexual, not gay. He’s attracted to men and women. Get your terms straight.”

 

“But homosexuals …” he tried again.

 

“Let me say it this way.” Steve bit off each word as if it was its own declaration. “If I were upset that Tony was bi, that would be the height of hypocrsy since I’m bi myself.”

 

The room erupted, shouted questions overwhelmed by the clicking of cameras. Forgotten for the moment, Clint slipped out of the room and beat a hasty retreat.

 

* * *

 

“Did you know?” Clint slid further down into the sofa cushions.

 

“Never exactly asked.” Natasha stroked his hair. “And you know why he did it. Pisses him off that the people assume he’s so closed-minded.”

 

“Yeah.” He’d been sulking for the last three hours, huddled under his favorite blanket and drinking scotch. “I always wondered about him and Bucky, to be honest.”

 

“Now that’s giving me mental images of him and Bucky and Peggy Carter.” She kissed the top of his head. “You look pretty good on that tape, I have to say. High quality, good lighting, and your abs got a great cameo

 

“Nice strategy,” Tony said as he strolled in the room.  “Trust me, I’ve had much worse angles and less flattering ones on the webernet. This is oscar worthy.”

 

“Be nice,” Natasha stood; she patted Tony’s shoulder. “It’s his first. You might be used to it, but he’s not.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony headed straight for the bar and poured himself a drink. “Page Six virgin, are you? Comes with the territory when you’re a Stark.”

 

Clint coughed on the mouthful of liquor and struggled to swallow.  

 

“You’re a freakin’ avenger,” Tony said. “You can’t die from choking on scotch.”

 

“I’m not a …” he coughed again, “...a Stark. Not that being a Barton is so great, but it’s who I am.”

 

“Right, got it. You want to keep your own name, that’s gucci.” Tony put his glass on an end table and dropped down next to Clint. “Barton-Stark it is.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Clint could usually follow Tony’s leaps of conversation, but surely Tony didn’t mean …

 

“Had this weird dream the other night. You were like nine months pregnant …”

 

“Pregnant?” Clint’s voice rose. “Don’t go getting any ideas, Tony. Just because you dreamed it doesn’t mean you have to make it come true.”

 

“Yeah, no.” Tony shook his head. “There’s tons of kids who need adopting if we want a family. And we’ll do it right, not like some celebrities who use them like accessories.”

 

“Family?” Clint squeaked. Tony ignored him.

 

“Anyway, you’ll never guess what happened. You gave birth to the hulkbuster armor.” Tony laughed. “But that’s not the best part. Inside the suit were … seventeen corgi puppies.”

 

“I’m all over the internet with your dick up my ass and you tell me story about corgis?” Clint actually smiled. This was classic Tony, how he expressed his feelings. “So what, you want to upgrade the armor? Make it give birth to a mini-set of armor?”

 

“No.” Tony stopped, thought about it. “Although, that’s a cool idea. I’ll probably steal it. But that’s not the point.”

 

“Oh  God, is this a metaphor for fucking?”

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Legolas, it’s just a dream. Doesn’t mean a damn thing.” Tony swallowed a mouthful of scotch. “The point is that our lives are weird, okay?  Fishmen, sentient trees, dinosaurs … honestly, a sex tape is almost normal. Captain Bi has already knocked it off the radar; he sucked up all the attention with his little bombshell.”

 

“Yeah, he didn’t have to do that for us. Nobody’s going to care that we’re sleeping together, nobody who matters anyway. But the embodiment of truth, justice and American way sucking dick? The WSC will be calling any minute.” Clint drained his glass.

 

“And I’ll tell them to kiss my ass.” Tony gave Clint a swat on the shoulder. “Rather it be you, but hey, I can film it for blackmail purposes.”

 

“God, I love your brand of crazy.” Clint swiped Tony’s glass, leaving his empty on the end table. “That and your liquor cabinet.”

 

“Hey!” Tony pouted; Clint took a drink then passed it back. “So, if we’re past the sulking part of the evening, I think I can do better on the upsweep.  Wanna get naked and give it another try?”

 

“You’re going to have Jarvis film it for comparison, aren’t you?”

 

“Don’t worry. No one’s getting to those files. You’re precious identity is safe. You’re virtue, however, is going down.” Tony waggled his eyebrows.

 

The only answer was to roll over and straddle Tony, set his glass out of the way, and kiss him like a drowning man gasping for air.

* * *

 

“Traitor!”

 

“Perversion!”

 

“God hates you!”

 

Clint ducked his head and used his shoulder to open a way through the crowd with Nat on his heels. He didn’t need to see her face to know she had deployed her death scowl; even the most vitriolic of the protesters dropped back at the imminent murder they saw there. Thank God Bruce had stayed in the lab to work the chemical part of the problem; he’d have hulked out in a heartbeat when faced with such pure hatred.

 

“There are kids in danger.” Steve’s voice rang out; so tall that he towered above everyone else, he was a visible target for their anger. “They need help.”

 

“Not your kind of help.” The woman’s spit the words into Steve’s chest. “Your dirty hands shouldn’t be near our children.”

 

“Oh for God’s sake.” Tony sailed down, repulsors clearing people out of the way. “If you want to die rather than be touched by a queer, that’s your choice. I’ll even let it happen.”

 

“Faggot!” A man threw a brick; it slammed into Tony’s armor and bounced onto the street. “May you burn in hell.”

 

“Oh, fuck you.” Tony flipped the guy off. “We don’t have time for this. Come on, Cap.”

 

With Tony above, they dashed across the street to the school where shattered glass littered the front yard and crashing could be heard from the second floor. Splitting up, Clint circled around to the side entrance, tracking the sounds as he hit the stairs for the roof. He caught a glimpse of a scaly creature turning a corner, tail swishing as it raced down a hallway.

 

“Heading your way, Cap, on the third floor now.” He booked it, hitting the push bar and scrambling across the roof deck.  “I’m in position. Toss it out a window on the east side; let’s give Tony’s new net design a test run.”

 

“Give me a …” Steve huffed then grunted, “... second. Croc guy is …” another grunt and explosive exhale, “...pretty big.”

 

Two seconds later the crash came and Clint let his arrow fly. The net exploded, weights dragging the ends down and whipping them around the contorting body.  It landed with a thud, thrashed violently, but couldn’t untangle itself.

 

“And good night.” The second shot hit the soft skin under the creature’s neck and released enough sedative to knock out a charging rhinoceros. It still tossed its tail and snout around, snapping at the filaments.

 

“Go to fucking sleep,” Clint mumbled, releasing another arrow. This time, it slowed and finally stilled. “Okay, we need an even bigger dose if we’re doing the mutant thing again.”

 

Steve casually jumped out the window and down to the ground … he did those kind of things without thinking … ignoring the crowd gathered at the gates just beyond the corralled monster. The principal came out the door, followed by two security guards and another man.

 

“Everything’s under control,” Steve told her. “We’ll have this guy out of your way in just a …”

 

In a smooth motion, a gun appeared in one of the guard’s hands. Clint only had time to dial up an arrowhead, bring up his bow, and reach behind him before the man pulled the trigger. Drowned out by the screams of the protesters and onlookers, Clint saw the man’s head jerk backwards, a blossom of red forming on his forehead, and then he fell backwards, his own bullet stray wide of his mark.

 

“What the …” Tony cursed, but Clint ignored the sudden chatter on his earpiece.  Eyes followed the trajectory back to a building roof where he saw movement, a reflection on metal that disappeared almost immediately.

 

“I’m on him.”  

 

He jumped to the skybridge that connected the school and the gym across the street, feet pounding on the flat metal roof. A grappling hook took him up and over the ledge, and he was scanning for snipers as he covered the area. Didn’t take long to find the spot where someone had knelt down in the gravel, making round spots with their knees. Clint sighted along the line and knew this was where the shooter had been, but there was nothing there, not a single shell casing or cigarette butt or even smudged pigeon poop.

 

“Damn it, this guy’s good,” he said.  “Shooter’s gone. I’ve got nothing.”

 

The clean up was hell.  The video went viral within minutes of being uploaded; Steve stepping in front of the principal to protect her was clipped out and trending within half an hour. The kid who’d recorded it on her phone had included the whole thing from the croc guy falling including the screams and shouts of the crowd. As to answer the long range shot, they said it was a SHIELD agent stationed for cover.  

 

“Okay, JARVIS, I want everything there is on that supposed security guard.” Tony started talking before he was even inside.  “And get me any camera footage that might have caught our mystery man who missed his shot. I want to know who they work for and what their endgame is.”

 

“He didn’t miss.” Clint opened his locker and began checking through his gear. “That was dead center from five hundred feet at an obtuse angle. Add in the wind and I’d say only a handful of people could make that shot.”

 

“He aimed for the guard?” Tony didn’t sound convinced. “Nobody knew that guy was going to take a potshot at Stevie boy. Whoever it was had to be there for one of us.”

 

“Look, if it’s a question of mechanics or physics or engineering, we come to you, right? Well, this is a question of vectors and angles and pulling the trigger, and you just happen to have the best sniper in the world telling you the shooter not only aimed for the guard but made a very difficult spot in a matter of seconds.”

 

“Right, yeah, didn’t mean you weren’t a badass, Merida.” Tony ruffled the back of Clint’s hair. “Just doesn’t make sense to me.”

 

“Does it have to?.” Steve was half out of uniform, his hair standing at all angles. “Whoever it was saved me life. That’s enough for me.”

 

“Sir? I must report that the were two different security cameras that might have caught the shooter; both, unfortunately, were disabled during the time of the incident,” Jarvis announced.  “I’m afraid there is no video.”

 

“Of course.” Tony sighed. “Super secret sniper club rule 101, right?”

 

“Leave no trace,” Clint agreed with a nod.  “Wanna join our boy band?”

 

“Nah, I’m more a lone wolf than a joiner.”  He headed for the elevator. “Okay, JARVIS, let’s get going. Collate the info as you get it and send it to my lab.”

 

Clint finished changing into sweats and a t-shirt, keeping an eye on Steve’s slow movements.

 

“Hey, you doing okay? I mean, we’re all kind of used to people trying to kill us on a daily basis; I do remember what it feels like.”

 

“I’m ... “ Steve ran a hand over his face. “I knew it would be ugly when I came out, but … the look in their eyes, those protesters. The hate and anger.”

 

“They’re losing and they know it. Gay marriage in legal now in all states. Young people support queer rights by a high margin,” Clint said. “So they’re screaming louder. Don’t let ‘em get to you; they’re really a small minority of Americans.”

 

“Thanks.” Steve laid a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I needed to hear that.”

 

“I’m sure Nat told you the same thing on the ride back.”

 

“Nat didn’t  … Wait, she wasn’t with you?”  Steve’s eyes widened. “She said she was … Fuck. She’s out there, isn’t she?”

 

“You know that’s how she shows she cares, right? Tony builds things, Nat kicks ass. Don’t worry about it; she’ll come back when she has information.”

 

“God, that’s exactly what Peggy would do. I definitely have a type.”  Steve raised his eyebrow and pinned Clint with a stare. “Sort of like what Tony did for you with Loki, eh? Guess we both have to learn to let others help us.”

 

“Loki?” Clint shook his head and hid his surprise. “Look, I know you’re angry about …”

 

“I was until I figured it out.  I understand why you kept it quiet; Thor’s got a blindspot about his brother. There’s still consent issues that I can’t get around, but Tony must really love you to go to those lengths.” Steve turned and grabbed a t-shirt from his locker.

 

“Steve.” Clint’s first thought was to deny it, but he wasn’t sure why it mattered anymore. “It wasn’t … Oh, hell, it was but I’m okay. Hard to hold onto the anger when Tony risked so much to make sure it couldn’t happen again.”

 

“That’s good to hear.” Steve exhaled. “We need some good things to balance the rest.”

 

“You know what we need? Blueberry cobbler scones and triple mocha lattes. Want to hit the cafe downstairs and OD on sugar? Clint grinned. “Tony loves their lemongrass shakes.”

 

They took the private elevator to the mezzanine level; down some steps, the back entrance made it easy to slide in and order from the side of the counter. A cap and sunglasses were enough to go unnoticed at three in the afternoon.

 

“Hey!” Pavel greeted them as they came in; one nice thing about living in Stark Tower was getting to know the people who worked in the shops. It was almost like being just another customer, or at least a normal as it could be. “Sugar run, right? I’ll get started on the lattes. Lemongrass or kale for the shake?”

 

“Lemongrass,” Clint answered. “Tell me you have some fresh scones and I’ll dance at your wedding.”

 

“No blueberry today; Marva tried a new combo.  Blackberry lemon. Pretty good with clotted cream. How many?”

 

“Four. Tony will want one.” Steve said.

 

A group of women occupied one corner, some businessmen by the window, and two tower security guards held down a table for their coffee break. None lifted their heads to acknowledge them, used to the comings and goings of tower residents.

 

“I’ll grab you some fresh ones,” Pavel said.

 

Clint wandered to the window; the courtyard was empty, but the street beyond was flowing with traffic, cars and people and bikes passing, caught up in their owns lives.  He’d taken his blinders off long ago, and he’d never regretted it. He’d rather know the dangers than live in ignorance.

 

Something caught his eye; he narrowed in on the far sidewalk. Stepping out from behind a taco truck was a man with a hood pulled up to shade his face.  Pushing open the door, Clint touched his earpiece.

 

“Jarvis? You got eyes on …”

 

An RPG appeared in the guy’s hands and the rocket blasted towards them.

 

“Get down!” Clint screamed. “Everyone get under cover!”

 

It slammed into the window in front of the counter, and the explosion blew outward, knocking Clint down.  His head slammed off the concrete, glasses and hat flying, and his elbow exploded with pain. For seconds, he couldn’t see, ash and dust mixing with the blood dripping from his forehead. Then he pushed himself up, used his shirt to wipe his eyes; twisted metal was all that was left of the side of the building, windows splintered from the concussive blast. He gave one quick glance behind him; the shooter was gone, lost among the chaos of stalled cars and shouting people.

 

The counter was a tumble of wood and glass, flames flickering as it smoldered.  A beam from the back wall bisected the mound; between the heat and the weight, Clint couldn’t get close. He grabbed a piece of wood, burning his fingers as he tried to move it, but it was wedged tight.

 

“Steve!” he shouted. “Steve!”

 

A pile of debris shifted; one of the women coughed and shoved at the table that covered her.

 

“Damn it,” he muttered, turning to help the woman get free then dragged another one, unconscious but alive, out into the courtyard.  Smoke from the fire grew denser when he carried out the third woman who’d broken her leg but was awake. One of the security guards fell in beside him as he dug through debris towards the corner where the business men had been sitting.  One was barely breathing; he and the guard carried the prone form out of the wreckage to lay on the concrete by the fountain. Someone with a Stark polo shirt on immediately rushed to the man’s side, medical kit in hand.

 

The sound of repulsors was the only warning Clint got before Tony grabbed him and spun him around.  The helmet dissolved and Tony’s face appeared.

 

“What the fuck, Barton? I turn my back for five minutes and you’re right in the middle of a war zone? Was the coffee maker not working?” He dissolved his gauntlet and brushed at Clint’s face, fingers coming away covered with blood and ash.  “Jesus, you’re a wreck. Let’s get you checked out and make sure you’re okay.”

 

“Tony,” Clint choked out, his throat dry and raspy.

 

“No argument. I’m flying you up to the med bay right now …”

 

“Steve’s in there.” Clint coughed and tried to catch his breath. “I can’t get to him; he and the kid are under the counter and it’s too heavy.”

 

“Fuck.” Tony spun, grabbing the arm of the paramedic who was running onto the scene. “Here, check this guy from head-to-toe and make sure he’s okay. I’ll be back.”

 

“I’m fine,” Clint told the EMT.  “The woman over there has a broken leg. See to her first.”

 

Clint jogged to the fire truck and ambulance, weaving between them and pushing through the crowd of gathered onlookers.  People milled around the taco truck, some trying to keep on their way, others rubbernecking at the dwindling plume of smoke. He planted himself on the spot where the shooter had stood and studied the angles, looking for cameras.  

 

“Southwest corner and the ATM in bank lobby behind me, Jarvis.  Might get the exit route from that law firm on the second floor catty corner.”  Clint squatted down and touched a half-dried spots. He dropped to a knee, soaking up more of the drops. “Blood’s still fresh.  Why would he be bleeding?”

 

“Agent Barton, if I may, Master Stark is looking for you; Captain Rogers is being taken to the hospital. I will check the footage and pass the information along,” the A.I. answered.

 

“Tell Tony I’m on this guy’s trail; best way to help Steve is to track him down.” Clint pushed his way to the corner, following the dotted line of red, smeared in places, but leading down the block.  “Okay, where did you get rid of the RPG. Can’t disappear carrying it.”

 

The first alley held an open dumpster. Clint grabbed the edge and lifted himself up; his elbow popped and shot a sharp pain up his shoulder.  He hissed, but there it was, the launcher laying right on top of the garbage.

 

“Too easy,” he mumbled, dropped back to the ground.  “They’re both amateurs, him and the guy earlier.”

 

The blood spatter continued to the back door of a closed restaurant; a shove opened it and Clint practically stumbled over the man’s outstretched legs as he walked down the hall.  A round bullet hole was centered in his forehead, his eye glassy and fixed.

 

“Fuck.” He kicked the man’s foot. “We’re two steps behind.”

 

“Don’t feel too bad about it. I’ve been on the trail for six weeks. You just started.”

 

Dark hair, dark clothes, a big gun aimed at Clint’s chest. This had to be the sniper.

 

“Nine months? Steve just came out a few days ago.” Clint straightened and put his back towards the wall. “You saying this isn’t some angry homophobes?”

 

“Oh, the two today are and so are the three more lined up for tomorrow.  But they’re being used. Someone’s had a hard on to get rid of Captain America for awhile and Steve’s little announcement gave them a window of opportunity.” In the faint light, the sniper kept his face hidden. “Look, I need you to do two things for me. First, tell Steve to watch his six.  I’d suggest he stay inside but I know what a stubborn SOB he can be. Second, tell Natalia to back off. She’s scaring some leads.”

 

“Yeah, dude, I don’t know who the hell you are or why you’re stalking Steve. You’re some sort of cat leaving dead birds for him. So, unless you tell me who you are and why you’re doing this, I’m not going to believe a word you say.”

 

“Jesus, you’re a mouthy as I thought you’d be. You and Steve probably get along like gangbusters,” he said. “Let’s just say it’s my job to watch Steve’s back. Tell them or don’t, I’m going to keep doing it.”

 

“I’m not ...” The knife flew by Clint and he reacted, leaning to the left, before he realized it wasn’t going to hit him. When he looked back, the guy was gone. “Damn it. Jarvis? You got eyes on him? Jarvis?”

 

Only static sounded in his ear; he ran out the door and tried again.

 

“Agent Barton?” Jarvis came back online.  “I lost contact briefly, some sort of localized jamming.  I’ve sent the location of the dumpster and the body to Stark Security.  They’re on their way.”

 

“Did you see the sniper?” Clint headed back to the tower.

 

“I’m afraid not.  I will pull the feeds from other cameras for you to peruse once you return.  Master Stark has asked me to remind you to seek medical attention.”

 

“I bet he did.” Clint paused at the crosswalk. “Do you have …”

 

“Hey!” An EMT yelled at him, jogging across the now closed street. “You’re that Avenger, right? The one who pulled all those people out?  Mr. Stark told me to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

 

“I fine ….” Clint started to argue, but the EMT hooked a hand around his elbow and Clint groaned.

 

“Look, Mr. Stark promised a really generous donation to St Jude’s in my kid’s name; they saved his life after he was born.”  The EMT dropped her hand to his wrist and tugged him towards the back of an ambulance. “All I have to do is check you over. So do it for my kid, okay?”

 

“That’s not fair,” he groused, sitting down inside the open doors. “Tony fights dirty.”

 

“That’s a good thing.” She unspooled a stethoscope from around her neck and placed it on his chest. “Saved the world at least once, if I remember.”

 

“Yeah, he tends to do that.”

 

“Heart sounds good.” She slipped a small clip on his finger and waited for the numbers to stop flashing. “Temps a little high, so’s your heart rate, but that’s to be expected. Now, follow the light with your eyes.”

 

“I don’t have a concussion.”  He hated the pen light but he did as told. “I know what those feel like.”

 

“Uh Huh.” She put the light away. “What’s your name?”

 

“Clint Barton.” He huffed, but answered.

 

“And who’s the president?” Her fingers gently probed the sensitive area around his elbow.

 

“Please don’t make me say his name. It’s too embarrassing to admit.” He sucked in a breath when a spike of pain shot up his arm.

 

“Okay, I’ll give you that one.  What’s the date?” Bending his arm gently, she rotated the elbow, noting every time he flinched.

 

“May the 4th, Star Wars day.”  He flexed his fingers. “It’s not broken; been there, done that. Do you think I chipped it? Or is it an inflamed bursa?”

 

“You know a lot about joint injuries. Can’t imagine why.”  She grabbed an alcohol wipe and started cleaning the cut on his forehead.  “Mostly likely it’s the bursa. Give it a day or two for the swelling to go down then get an Xray to be sure.  Now this lump on the back of your head.”

 

She barely touched it and Clint jerked away.

 

“That’s going to need an ice pack; toss in some motrin and you’ll just have to ride it out.”

 

“So basically, I’m banged up but fine. I could have told you that.”

 

“This cut needs a butterfly bandage, and you should put some burn ointment on your fingers until they heal,” she said, finishing up.

 

“Tony will make good on the donation,” he told her.

 

“Of course I will.” Tony landed a few feet away and walked over to them. “Will he live?”

 

“He’s going to ache, but he’ll be okay.” She nodded. “Nice to meet you both.”

 

“Damn it, Barton,” Tony growled as soon as the EMT left. “You just disappeared on me without a word. What the hell?”

 

“Jarvis knew where I was.” Clint could feel his frustration bubbling near a boil; two attempts on Steve, a mystery sniper, getting tossed around by a rocket … he’d had about enough for the day.”

 

“Someone out there is gunning for Steve and you two go traipsing off.” Tony stepped closer. “There’s a hole in my tower and people could have died including you.”

 

“I’m not going to check in with you every time I want to go downstairs for a damn coffee, Tony.” Clint balled up his fists. “And I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Been doing for a lot more years than I’ve known you.”

 

“Fuck.” Tony grabbed Clint by the waist and pulled him into a bruising kiss that only ended when they both calmed down. “I saw the footage. Two steps to the right and you’d have been in the path of that thing, Merida. I can’t …”

 

“I know.” Clint dropped his forehead against Tony’s. “When I couldn’t move that damn beam to get to Steve, all I could think about was what if it was you.”

 

They parted, looked at each other and chuckled.

 

“How’s Steve?” Clint asked.

 

“Skin’s growing back faster than they can graft it. He’s awake and wanting to get out of there, but they’re going to keep him until the internal swelling goes down.” Tony made the suit disappear. “Jarvis said you’d found something. Let’s get the class together and share.”

* * *

 

“He used the name Natalia?” Natasha’s eyes were stone cold and distant. “You sure about that?”

 

“Yes.” Clint resisted the urge to offer comfort; he knew when to leave her alone.

 

“I don’t get it. You said he talked as if he knew me? That can’t be true.”  Steve was straddling his chair facing backwards, his shirtless back mottled with fading red spots. Nat had sprung him from the hospital and brought him back to the tower after Clint called her with the news. “Unless there’s another super soldier frozen in ice I don’t know about.”

 

If he hadn’t been looking at Natasha,  he’d have missed the tiny crinkle at the corner of her eye, the only tell she had. She might not know who the sniper was, but she suspected something. No use asking; Nat would share when she decided to and not before.

 

“Whoever he is, he’s got the hots for you, Capsicle. Probably a sociopath who has developed a fixation on your spangles.” Tony manipulated the information on the screen.  “If he’s right about more tomorrow, we’ve got to find out who’s pulling the strings.”

 

“Alberto Angus, security guard, 52. Divorced, two teenagers. Not so much as a ding on his record. Pays his bills on time, even donates to his church which happens to be a far right fringe denomination no one’s heard of except the ATF. Real wrath of God type stuff, burn witches at the stake religion.  Ease to see what got him riled up; this was the last post of the so-called minister of the pure faith.”

 

A window opened with an older white man in a ill-fitting blue suit, his face filling the screen. “... abomination in the sight of God.  Creatures of the Devil, born of the evil of man, man lying with man. God smote Gomorrah for less than what we celebrate …”

 

“Any clue that he was paid off or helped by anyone else?” Natasha asked.

 

“He was laid off six months ago; the security job was a new one; he’d been with the company less than a month and only sent to the school two days ago.” Tony swiped another file in place. “The giant crocodile guy appeared this morning; so far we have no trail or any other evidence of where he came from.”

 

“You think someone let that creature go to draw us to the school?” Clint thought about it. “Yeah, I can see how that would work.  Make a situation where there’s someone ready to take the shot. But no one knew we were going to the coffee shop; how did the second guy know to be there?”

 

“Ah, homophobe number two. Scott Narrie. Another guy with some serious mental issues.  He’s been in and out of institutions since he was sixteen; treatment never seemed to stick and they keep remanding him into the custody of his ex-con father who has Nazi tattoos. He’s been living on the streets in the city. Picked up a number of times for vagrancy and disturbing the police.  Interesting thing: if he stayed on his meds, he was a pretty good artist. Guess where he’s been the last two days?” Tony pulled up video of the street across from the tower; the man shuffled along with his duffle bag over one shoulder. As time elapsed, he curled up in a doorway, moved when police came by, but kept within a block or two.

 

“Wait.” Clint zoomed in on the screen. “Go back slowly.” The man backed around a corner. “There. Look at the bag. He’s carrying it by hand rather than on his shoulder. It’s bigger, lumpier. He’s got the RPG while he was gone.”

 

“Jarvis.” Tony didn’t bother finishing the statement; security camera feeds began popping up in separate screens, flickering quickly at top speed. Forty windows dropped to ten and then two, running simultaneously, zooming in to follow the target into a building a few blocks away and then back out again.

 

“Records show the building is owned by NYC Properties with most units owned or rented long term.” Jarvis projected a list of names. “Three are corporate apartments leased by two local law firms and one is a holding company named Dimension Z Unlimited.”

 

“That doesn’t sound hinky at all.” Clint winced as he pushed his chair away from the table. “Who’s up for a field trip? I feel like kicking a few doors down.”

Natasha said, “Tony and I will visit the building; you and Steve stay here and see what Jarvis finds.”

 

She held up a finger as both opened their mouths to object.

 

“No.”

 

They nodded in agreement.

 

“Good. It’s settled.”

* * *

 

“There’s more of them.” Steve scrolled through the security feeds.  “They’re spilling out into the street. Something’s stirring them up.”

 

He zoomed in on a group of protesters; signs came into focus. TONY STARK SUCKS! one read. CAPTAIN AMERICA IS NO HERO, another declared. But it was the third that made Clint sit up.

 

BURN IN HELL, HOMO HAWKEYE.

 

‘What the hell?” Clint recognized the grainy photo of his face from the sex tape. “Jarvis?”

 

“Searching, Agent Barton.  Ah, I believe this video may answer your question.  It was uploaded twenty-six minutes ago .”

 

A shaky cell phone video from across the street showed Clint sitting in the ambulance. The audio was muddled, but the words were clear enough to hear not only his name, but to catch the whole argument too. Then there was the kiss and no mistaking the tilt of Clint’s head, his profile, the same angle.

 

“Fuck,” he cursed. “Jarvis, can you take that down?”

 

“I’ll try, but there are others that are proliferating, taken from different locations. They’re being reblogged and cached at a high rate.”  

 

“Show them to me.” He might as well see the damage.

 

Fifteen minutes later, the first comparison photos went up on Page Six. Just Jared was seconds behind.  The major networks held out for another twenty before they broke the story that Clive Burton was Clint Barton aka Hawkeye. One of the talking heads on FOX News went on a rant about the Avengers all being homosexuals who were trying to push the gay agenda.

 

When Tony landed on the balcony, Clint was on his second glass of scotch and watching a roundtable discussion on CNN about his own background with a PhD who’d written a book on the history of traveling circuses, an ex-FBI agent who’s worked with Clint in his early SHIELD days, and Justin Hammer, of all people.  Hammer was trashing Tony and the historian kept bringing up the Amazing Hawkeye. The only one taking up for Clint, the ex-agent was constantly interrupted by the others.

 

“Honey, I’m ….” Tony stopped behind the couch. “What the hell is Hammer doing on the screen? I thought he was blacklisted after that last incident.”

 

“He’s talking about how you’re a sexual predator and wouldn’t take no at a conference in Aspen.”  Clint handed Tony his glass and got up to get another. “Trust me, you’re going to need this.”

 

“I wouldn’t touch Hammer with a twenty five and a half foot pole.”  Tony watched the headline ticker. “Jarvis! Did you …”

 

“Already tried, but it’s too late. Cell phones were everywhere and they got my name. I’m now officially done with undercover work.” Clint skipped the ice and went straight for the whiskey. “Did you find out anything at the apartment?”

 

“Someone got there before us, searched the whole place.  Natasha found something and went rushing out to chase a ghost, or so she said.” Tony didn’t seem happy. “Jarvis tracked down the name of a real estate agency that sold the place the last time.  Turns out they’re contracted to SI, so were more than happy to give me the information. After all, it is public record. Know a woman named Jet who runs Black Industries?”

 

“Jet Black? You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s a stripper name …” Clint’s phone vibrated in his pocket; two texts from Natasha popped up.

 

_Need you. Come now._

 

The second text was directions.

 

“Damn it.” Clint sighed. “Nat needs me. We’ll have to table this. Question is how the hell I get out of here without causing a riot.”

 

“She didn’t call me? I’m heartbroken,” Tony said. “Jarvis? Now’s the time for that little present I’ve been working on.”

 

“Of course, sir. I’ll download the software into Agent Barton’s tactical glasses.”

 

“Doesn’t have everything I want yet, but the basics will do. Put ‘em on.” Tony held out Clint’s sunglasses he’d left on the table.

 

“Something new for my shades?” Clint slipped them on.  He knew Tony had fiddled with them, all the pairs he had around the apartment and in various cars; zoom, ultraviolet night vision … Tony was always updating them.

 

“Tap the left temple three times.”

 

The glasses cleared.

 

“Now look in the mirror.”

 

A set of brown eyes peered out of the black frames. Subtle changes to his nose, his lips and chin made him look completely different.

 

“The lens project a distortion field. Eventually, it will make you look like a specific person, but it’ll get you through the crowd outside.”  Tony shrugged.

 

“Thanks,” Clint said. “I’ll keep you updated. You might want to check on Steve in a bit. He’s working his way through your stash of punching bags.”

 

He took his motorcycle; pulling out of the garage entrance, the protesters started to surround him, but backed off when they saw his face. Despite taking smaller roads, a  full twenty minutes passed before he came to a stop in front of a brownstone in a nice neighborhood. Natasha opened the front door when jogged up the steps.

 

“Getting slow in your old age?”  She took him down the hall to the kitchen where the sniper from earlier sat on a stool drinking a soda. With the hood down, Clint could see the long brown hair and blue eyes that watched his every move.

 

“Had some developments.  Clive is blown and I’m now #3 on the homophobe shit list.”  He circled the island, grabbing one of the unopened sodas from the counter. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

 

“Clint Barton meet James. James, meet Clint.” Natasha waved a hand between them. “I need you to talk some sense into this dolt; he’s convinced he’s a danger and blames himself for everything bad that’s happened in the last ten …” she eyed James “... twenty years.”

 

“I told you, the programming is still there. All it would take is one trigger word and I’d be the Soldier again.”

 

“Whoa.” Clint stepped back. “You’re the Winter Soldier? Holy shit. That’s …” he couldn’t take it all in “... and your Nat’s James? The guy who broke the Black Widow’s heart?”

 

“Meant nothing to ya, huh?” James flashed Natasha a grin and Clint suddenly realized just how handsome the guy was under all the dirt and shaggy hair. “Once I remembered, I came back; it’s just that Stevie is such a trouble magnet. Takes all my energy to ensure he doesn’t get himself killed on a daily basis.”

 

“How can you know Steve?” Clint asked. “He’s from way back and you’re …”

 

“When they didn’t need him, they put him on ice,” Natasha explained.  “He’s as old as Steve.”

 

“God, what a fucked up mess.” Clint leaned against the counter. “And you want me to talk to him? What makes you think he’ll listen to me?”

 

“Because you know what it’s like to have someone take your mind and play.” Natasha’s eyes implored him for help.

 

“You want me to share my feeling about the whole blue-eyed mind fuck that was Loki? Hell, Nat, I don’t even talk to the shrinks, and you want me to tell a total stranger?” Clint curled his fingers into fists. “We just got past Tony’s manipulation of the godling wannabe.”

 

“Loki? That asshole who tried to take over the world with an alien army?” James asked. “You both fought with Steve.”

 

“Yeah, after Nat banged my head real hard and knocked Loki’s magic out of me.” Clint sighed; he was going to do this for her. “He took me over, head to hands to heart. If he said jump, I didn’t even ask, just did it. Hell, I wanted to do it. Wanted to make him proud of me. Wanted to please him. I don’t know if his twisted whatever is still in me, if he’s just waiting for the right moment to pop up and say, ‘Kill your friend,’ and I’ll do it, smiling the whole time.”

 

James was silent for a moment. “It’s like wiping me out entirely. I just … follow orders. Don’t care, don’t ask, don’t worry …”

 

“Sometimes you wish you could go back to that feeling because it was so simple. So easy. Don’t feel, don’t doubt, don’t question.” Clint closed his eyes and shivered. “No moral grey, just point and shoot.”

 

“I can’t remember what I was like before,” James continued. “And I’m not ever going to be that person again.  The people who knew me…” he looked at Natasha “... the people I cared for, loved … I don’t know if that’s possible anymore.”

 

“James,” Natasha breathed his name.

 

“Clearly it is.” Clint flicked his eyes open. “You’re running around town trying to keep Steve safe and you’re here with Nat, letting me ramble on, so you care.”

 

“That’s different. I can stay close, but not too close that I could hurt someone if I’m set off. If I go with you, see Steve, he’ll want more than that. More than I can give.”

 

Something in the way James tilted his head, hid his eyes and gripped the edge of the counter made Clint understand. “You know, I’ve told everyone that I can’t remember, that’s it’s all too fuzzy. But that’s a lie. I remember every person I killed, every face of those who saw me coming, every time he told me I’d done well.  I can’t forget the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on my skin, the weight of his body. And, most of all, I can’t believe I didn’t want it, all of it, at some deep level because I so easily gave in to his demands.”

 

“Jesus.” James’ eyes widened and he stared at Clint.

 

“It took a crazy woman with a truth serum to make me say it out loud to Tony. I was sure he’d kick my ass out of the Tower and toss me in jail where I really belong. But you know what he did?  He worked night and day to come up with a way to neutralize Loki’s abilities to ensure he could never control me again and make me feel safe.” Clint kept his face turned away from Nat. “Do you think he wouldn’t do the same for you if I asked? Whatever they did to you, Tony or Bruce can figure it out. And if you think Steve Rogers wouldn’t stand by a friend no matter what, well, buddy, you really don’t know the guy.”

 

James blinked, stared at Clint then the edge of his lip turned up.

 

“You always did have a knack for attracting interesting people, Talia” James said. “Okay, I’ll go.”

 

Only then did Clint turn his head to look at Natasha; lower lip caught in her teeth, she closed the distance and gave him a hug.  

 

“You knew.” Clint pulled back so he could see her. “You and Steve figured it out.”

 

“I’ve known for awhile. That op in Chechnya.” She brushed a finger along his chin. “I was waiting for you to tell me, then Tony made the grand gesture.”

 

“Seeing Loki like that did make me feel better,” Clint admitted.

 

“Is that your bike outside?” James said, interrupting the moment. “I’ll be glad to ride it back for you.”

 

“Yeah, no. You get to ride with Nat.”

 

“Actually, I walked.” Natasha grinned. “We’ll call a cab.”

* * *

 

“That was fast …” Tony came to a stop in the doorway and stared at James. “Okay, who picked up tall dark and dirty?”

“Tony, this is James, our mystery sniper,” Clint said. “He’s decided to share info with us.”  

 

“Ah, so he brought his marbles.” Tony didn’t move, still eyeing James up and down. “And the fact that Widow is in her protective stance has no bearing on the situation?”

 

“James and Nat have met before,” Clint clarified.

 

“In the Biblical sense, I bet.” Tony held up his hands. “Don’t shoot me. Nothing wrong with an exe showing up from time-to-time. Happens to the best of us. Still doesn’t explain how this guy knows …”

 

“Bucky?” Steve’s face was pale, his eyes wide. “Is it really you? How can it be? I saw you fall.”

 

Tony glanced at Clint; Clint shrugged his shoulders.  Natasha stood rooted to her spot.

 

“It’s me, Stevie.” James’s face softened. “I came as soon as I remembered.”

 

Bucky Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes. James was Bucky. James was the Winter Soldier, so the Winter Soldier was Bucky. Clint’s brain swam in circles trying to make sense of it.

 

“Remembered? God, Buck, what happened to you?” Steve moved forward.

 

Stepping in front of him, Clint put his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “Hey, listen. You remember after Loki, when we all moved into the tower? How you argued that I needed space and time rather than being locked up with doctors? You were so careful to not push, to let me deal with things in my own time?”

 

“I don’t ….” Understanding dawned. “Yes. Of course.” His eyes flitted back to James. “Whatever happened all those years, Buck, I’m here for you. To the end of the line.”

 

“Steve.” James was the one who moved this time.  Clint scrambled out of the way as the two men engulfed each other, arms wrapped tightly.  “God, how could I have forgotten you.”

 

“Those are some seriously manly tears.” Tony came to stand by Clint.

 

“You just want to get a look at his arm,” Clint said.

 

“Arm? What arm?” Tony leaned in and saw the glint of metal between glove and cuff. “Ooooh, what are we talking about? HYDRA tech?”

 

“Soviet,” Clint told him. “And I might have promised you’d figure out a way to deprogram his brain.”

 

“Not a problem.  The program I used on Loki can easily be modified; I’m already halfway there.”  Tony nudged Clint’s shoulder. “This is like a soap opera plot. The girl’s old boyfriend turns out to be the guy’s long-lost dead lover? Awkward.”

 

“Why?” Natasha’s voice made Tony jump. “Just shows we all have good taste.”

 

“Wear a bell, would you?” Tony joked. “Okay, okay, enough with the reunion.  I’ve got news. Who wants to hear? Right then. I chased the so called Jet Black through lots of fake companies and identities and guess what I found.”

 

“She’s Armen Zola’s granddaughter,” Bucky answered, an arm still around Steve. “And she hates Steve because he destroyed Zola’s legacy.”

 

“Seriously? Steal my thunder.” Tony pouted. “But I bet you don’t know where she is right now.”

 

“I do not.” James immediately released Steve; his whole demeanor changed, emotion dropping away from his face. “Tell me the location.”

 

“Oh, no Mr. Winter McWinterson. You don’t get to go off all on your own and …” Tony started to say.

 

“I’ve got it.” Natasha looked at the map on her phone. “James, you take the back door, I’ll come in from the basement. Clint, you get the roof and Steve’s going to ring the bell.”

 

“Jarvis, you traitor,” Tony groused. “Fine. What’s my job.”

 

“You’re on files and the money trail.  We’re going to public with it all.”

* * *

 

“... federal officers arrested Jet Black, CEO and sole owner of A.Z. Technology, after the Avengers raided her New York penthouse.  Investigators reveal that Ms. Black, the granddaughter of the infamous German scientist Armen Zola, was behind the attempts on Captain America’s life.  Through her philanthropic organization, The Valkyrie Foundation, she has been funding a number of right-wing and fascist organizations, including Westboro Baptist Church, the Brexit campaign in Britain, and neo-Nazis in Germany.  FBI Special Agent Jimmy Woo said …”

 

Clint flipped off the television as Tony came in the room. “Looks like the tide’s turned when it comes to Steve.  Even the American Family Association is pulling back from their earlier position. All it took was to discover half their money came from a HYDRA heiress.”

 

“We’re on the cover of the New York Post.” Tony tossed the paper on the table. “They need to get a better photographer; it’s out-of-focus and they cropped out your arm.”

 

WHO’S ON TOP IN THE TOWER? The headline asked.  They’d taken a still from the phone footage and blown it up.

 

“News cycle, right? Something will come along and they’ll forget about us.”  Clint doubted that; Tony was always in the news, and now he’d be too.

 

“Got an idea how to make that happen.” Tony slung his feet over and sat down on the back of the couch. “Nothing causes the fourth estate to lose interest faster than being boring; look at the Kardashians. They have to constantly keep dating, breaking up, getting pregnant, going to rehab, and any other way to keep the spotlight.”

 

“Boring isn’t in our vocabulary.” Clint leaned his head back and looked up. “And you’d go crazy in a week.”

 

“There are different levels of boring, Robin Hood.” Tony nudged him. “Shacking up and having four way orgies is exciting and tantalizing.  So we do the opposite; we hop on the jet, fly to Vegas, do the Elvis chapel thing, and make sure we’re seen doing it. Then we’re just another Neil Patrick and David.”

 

Clint blinked. “What?”

 

“Hey, if Elvis’s isn’t your thing, we can do that one with the mini-golf course. Play a round and get hitched.”

 

When Clint didn’t say anything, Tony kept talking.

 

“Or we buy a really cool convertible and do the drive thru? Get an in-and-out burger afterwards.”

 

He could let Tony go on … and he would … but Clint took pity on him. “If you want to do this, you’re going to have to ask me.”

 

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Tony protested.

 

“Telling me how to get our names off the front page, not asking me to get married.”

 

“Honestly?” Tony sighed then slid down to sit by him. “Fine.  Clint Francis Barton, will you do me the honor of being the ball to my chain?”

 

“Ball to …” Clint raised an eyebrow. “More like the arrow to your bow.”

 

“Bacon to my eggs? Hammer to my sickle? Mutt to my Jeff?” Tony waggled his. “Pick the metaphor, just give me an answer before I start to doubt myself.”

 

“Yes, Tony, I’ll be your banana to your peanut butter.” Clint’s grin widened. “Drive thru, Elvis, and In-n-Out burgers. Grab one of those prenups your lawyers have ready and have at.”

 

“Nah, don’t need one. You’re already my beneficiary,” Tony said.

 

“What?” Clint’s brain shorted out. “No Tony, I don’t want your money. You should give it to charity or something.”

 

“It’s a done deal.  Pepper gets the company and all the artwork. Happy and Rhodey get trust funds. Mom’s foundation, a bunch of other charities all receive a shit ton of cash.  You get the rest. That way I don’t have to worry about you ending up in some old superhero home with blown out knees.”

 

Clint sighed; he knew better than to argue when Tony wanted to be generous. “Everyone will think I married you for your money when the truth is it’s for joint custody of Nix.”

 

“Damn straight.” Tony caught Clint behind the neck and tugged him closer. “ I’ll put it in the wedding announcement. Now, come over here and let me put a little butter on that bread.”

* * *

 

In the end, they didn’t go to Vegas. Clint told Natasha and she talked to Pepper who insisted that Vegas wouldn’t do the trick; people would think it was a stunt wedding and not buy it. Besides, she argued, this should be a team thing to express support, so they all needed to be invited.  The house in Malibu was out because it was undergoing a remodel after the last attack so they settled on the Martha’s Vineyard. They held the ceremony on the beach, everyone barefoot, Tony in one of his expensive suits, Clint in jeans and a purple t-shirt. Natasha, the assassin of honor, wore a simple black sundress; Rhodey, the best war machine, went with a purple polo shirt and khakis. A local restaurant came early and dug the pit for the clambake; beer and wine flowed freely and the cupcakes were half Iron Man and half Hawkeye.

 

The pictures did what they were supposed to.  Peter Parker got the exclusive; J. J. Jamison was pissed off, but the New York Times paid Peter scale plus twenty.  There were posed shots but the one that went on page one was of the two of them, laughing, fire light casting shadows over the sand, the moon hanging in the sky above them. The other pictures were all casual, a glimpse into the intimate moments of the Avengers. Steve smiling, his arm around Natasha, her head turned so her face was hidden behind her hair. Pepper, in jean shorts and a tank top, dancing with Rhodey.  Thor, a bucket by his right foot and other by his left, mouth open, shrimp hanging in the air. Bruce with his pants rolled up, picking up shells in the shallow waters. Only a glimpse of Bucky, Steve’s head tilted towards James’ ear and dark hair.

 

The story went viral in minutes; the usual suspects yammered on about the dissolution of traditional marriage but most of the stories were about the miracle of Tony Stark settling down, even if they thought it was only for awhile. A month passed, a Hollywood couple got divorced and the Avengers’ relationships became yesterday’s news. A few of the fringe groups kept up the drum beat about Captain America but after HYDRA tried to staged a coup in North Korea only to be beat down by Steve, Bucky and Natasha working in unity, even FOX news quit covering the protests.

 

“Hey, anyone want to order a …” Clint stopped in the doorway. “Oh, wow, um …”

 

Steve was kissing Bucky’s neck; Natasha was in Bucky’s lap, her hands in Steve’s hair. She looked up.

 

“Pizza?” she asked.

 

“I could go for some,” Bucky agreed.

 

“Order four large with everything for me,” Steve added.

 

Clint fled back to the lab. “You’re going to want to turn on the common room cameras,” he told Tony.  

 

Later that night, after they’d all eaten enough to feed a small army, Clint dragged Tony to bed and rode him long and hard, up to the peak then backing off until Tony was a sweaty mess.  He made Tony beg then do nothing but groan, leaving him boneless, hanging half off the bed. Clint flopped down beside him.

 

City lights filtered through the windows, slanting across the bed; Tony’s face was in shadow, his chest a bright stripe.  Clint lay there, breaths evening out, his heart rate slowing, and wondered when he’d fallen. Such an explosive beginning that should have flamed out like all his other relationships, but here they were, years passing and shiny vibranium rings on their hands.

 

“Go ahead and say it or you’ll never get to sleep,” Tony mumbled. “You know you want to.”

 

“I’m not going first.” Clint rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. “You just want to be Han and we’re not having that argument again.”

 

“Come on, Barton. You know I’ll never do it; I’m genetically modified to avoid it.”  

 

He couldn’t think of a good reason not to.

 

“I love you, Metal Head.”

 

Tony’s eyes glittered as he lifted his head.

 

“Love you too, Hawk Ass.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
